


Lucy Van Pelt

by Pearly_Pornography



Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Character Analysis, Gen, Past Abuse, Past Eating Disorders, Past Rape/Non-con, Slurs, everyone cries, post-doomstar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-09-23 11:22:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9654497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pearly_Pornography/pseuds/Pearly_Pornography
Summary: The doctor is REAL IN.Set after Doomstar, before the Salacia battle.





	

After an incident that involved falling out a window and having one's arms torn off, one might consider a change of job. However, a little amputation didn't deter Dr. Johnathan Twinkletits, and he showed up a week later like nothing was even wrong.

But regardless, he had a job to do. That job was SUPPOSED to consist of helping the psychological standing of the members of Dethklok, however, usually he just ended up sitting in his office, listening to old Amazelingtons albums and drinking Charles' overpriced scotch. They refused to show up. A common habit, especially amongst mentally ill people who believe they don't need psychiatric help. Of course, in reality the numbers and statistics for mental illness were quite surprising. And he could tell from a quick glance that Dethklok was hardly the pinnacle of mental health. (It's normal for your bassist to be a basket case, but the rest of the band was no better.)

However, after an incident involving ex-Dethklok guitarist Magnus Hammersmith, a kidnapping, and a load of hellish self-discovery, Charles became a bit more stern about the situation. 

"I'm making Dethklok's psychiatric visits mandatory. After what happened, I feel it's necessary."

Of course Twinkletits was happy to serve a cushy job of doing next-to-nothing, but it had to happen sooner or later. After all, he certainly wasn't being paid to sit on his ass and take up space. So he would grin and bear it, whatever, it wouldn't be too hard to deal with. 

He had a degree for a reason, after all.

"Alright, Ofdensen. Seems fair enough."

"So, you know, if you see them... kicking, screaming, crying... etcetera. That's just me trying to get them into your office."

"Ah." He clicked his pen, staring off towards the ceiling. 'twas to be expected. Every member of Dethklok, save maybe Toki, loathed seeing the doctor on any day. Once again, under the impression that they were mentally well enough to function without a psychologist. In reality even the most straight-up perfect-thinking people had ought to see a psychiatric doctor. Though many considered Twinkletits on the more obnoxious end of his profession. 

"You still want to do this?"

"Of course, dumbass. Ain't nothing I can't handle."

"Alright. I'll take your word for it." Charles pushed away from the desk. "Toki will come see you tomorrow, then?"

"Okie dokie, Mr. Suit."

-

1 PM. Toki was running an hour late, which frankly, Twinkletits expected. He'd been through all sorts of hell over the past few months, and everyone, or at least everyone of marginal mental functionality, suggested psychiatric assistance. 2 hours of unnecessary argument must have gone on, one before his appointment was scheduled, and one after Charles slowly realized Toki was running late. Which already said something bad had happened back there. Something Toki really, REALLY didn't want to talk about.

The door flew open. Twinkletits clicked his pen, flipping to a blank page on his notepad. 

"I's heres."

"Welcome, hi, nice to see you. Sit down. Make yourself comfortable." He tried to at least sound jovial, though it was a Monday morning and he hadn't finished up his coffee. "So. How's life treatin' you? Feelin' good?"

"No."

"Well, that makes sense. I guess that was kind of a stupid question, huh?"

"...Toki don't needs nones a' dis."

"Don't be that way." Click, click. "So tell me. What happened back there?"

"Back wheres?"

"When you were kidnapped." He paused. "I promise that anything you tell me is only between us guys." Which was... only a slight lie, he shared any information with Charles. (They were, after all, HIS boys, and HE deserved to know, at the very least.) Toki still seemed apprehensive.

"Got hurt a whole lots. Me 'n Abigails both, uh... beatens and... all fucks-ups." He whined, sinking deep into the chair. "It's ams dark. 'n really colds."

"Here. I'll let you talk about that. Let's--"

"You's gon's to ask me to rocks-talks about it."

"...Well, yeah." He shrugged. "Exactly right."

"...Alrights. But you betters nots says nothin's."

"Not a word."

Toki took a deep breath. His body language spoke words that language couldn't. The motivation he was forcing into himself just to make him admit what happened back there, to allow himself to open up to someone else, it was all seemingly mountainous for the poor kid. "If you don't want to, it's alright, Toki."

"No, I..." Toki swallowed. "I wants to."

"...Okay. Okay then."

"I... was..." He seemed to be choking. In honesty, Twinkletits was excitedly anxious to see how the sentence would end. Then Toki's lips moved, and he dropped the big one. The grandaddy of all traumas, as he clutched his hair in his shaking fists. "I was raped."

Twinkletits paused, remaining as emotionally flat as he could, and jotted it down in his notepad. "Still has nightmares about it. I ain'ts dones nothin' wrongs, doctor, I don't know why dis always happens to me--" He pressed a finger to Toki's lips. 

"...Before you continue, I'd just like to butt in for a moment--"

"Ja, you always does."

"--to say that none of what happened in there is your fault."

"Dey does it to Abigails, too! And dey calls her a smelly whore wit' a hairy cunts, and- and I can't does nothin' to stops it!" Tears rolled down his tight, bony cheeks. "'cause while I was starvin's I thought I couldn't does nothin's, and I ends up lettin's her down..." His head lowered. "I lets dem all down, dat ams why I gets all de bad lucks."

"Toki." Twinkletits stopped writing for a moment, before jotting down the four sacred letters, P-T-S-D. If it wasn't bad enough before, then it was bad enough by now. "Do you really believe that this was your fault?"

"...Uh-huh."

"Well, let me just say. A starved and half-dead guy like you couldn't have done much."

"I still would'a tries... Evens if it kills me..."

"Trust me, nobody wants you dead."

"But I don't adds nothin's, I's just dead weights. Likes a... corpse... in de trunks of you's car."

"Well, maybe you think so." Twinkletits clicked his pen a few more times as he spoke. "Your sense of self-worth is warped by a past of abuse and horrible depression... In layman's terms, you think you're worse than you are. Right?" Toki cocked his head. "Rhetorical question, don't answer."

"...I don't gets why nobodies would cares for me."

"You don't need to get it. In fact you- you probably, uh... never will." Click click. Toki looked confused. "But that's alright for now. I'm gonna give you a prescription for some antidepressants and I'm gonna need you to come here weekly."

"But waits, doctors." His fingers met his thighs, hands curled into tight and nervous fists. "I don't feel any betters."

"Recovery is a long and arduous process, bud." He fiddled with his glasses. "But for the sake of not only yourself, but those around you, ya gotta start at some point." Pause. "By the way, have you been eating properly?"

"...No..." 

"Take care of yourself. There's ice cream sandwiches in my mini-fridge."

"But..." He sighed. "If I looks dis bad, ain't nobodies gonna touch me no mores."

"Oh, don't worry. With Ofdensen on the front lines, nobody's gonna be touching any of you." Toki lowered his hunched shoulders, before prying the doctor's tiny freezer open and grabbing some free ice cream. Before he left, Twinkletits gave him a banana sticker and let him go. He wasn't happy, no sir, he was a mess. But these things took time. And if there was any job that required raw, incredible patience, it was psychology.

-

Pickles was one of the less awful ones to work with, though Twinkletits certainly didn't like him. The old man himself had what was classified as a sensory processing disorder, and Pickles' loud, high-pitched tantrums were enough to make him wish he was deaf.

But it was a necessary evil. And frankly, it was preferable to the other three, who simply refused to tell him anything until he got serious. Pickles was reluctant, but honest with his feelings for the most part, and Twinkletits could appreciate that. It made his job easier, even if it came in the form of a screaming Wisconsin drawl and a long-lasting headache. He made sure to take some ibuprofen before the scheduled time came around.

Apparently it was one hell of a task getting Pickles to come in. Klokateers left and right were getting bloody noses and black eyes. A couple might've even been impaled on the overly-pointy Mordhaus furniture. But eventually, and 'eventually' was an understatement, the drummer showed up with a harsh expression on his face.

"Why the fuck do I still gotta come 'ere?! It's like rehab, but lamer!"

"It's nothing like rehab, smartass, I'm not here to take away your booze and ruin your life." Twinkletits sighed, flicking his pen around his fingers. "I've been in rehab before, and the only thing it made me want to do was even more cocaine than I started with."

"You were a cocaine addict. I ain't even surprised."

Twinkletits almost wanted to throw him a solid, 'What do you mean, 'were'?' but decided to keep it to himself. 

"So. How have things been since Toki was rescued and what have you."

"Ugh. Fuckin' awful. I'll tell ya, Nathan's been totally garbage in bed."

"...You two are an item." Twinkletits jotted it down.

"He refuses to say so, yeh. Says it's 'gay' or somethin'. He always looks like he's thinkin' about somethin' else... and den afterwards when we're sleeping he'll get up at 'go-fuck-yourself-o'clock' in da mornin', screamin' and pukin' and sweatin'."

"I suppose I can bring it up to him when we meet. But, uh, I kind of meant how you've been, Pickles, not your... boyfriend?"

"Fuckbuddy."

"Yeah. Fuckbuddy."

"I dunno. Now dat it's all been dealt with we're just workin' our asses off to complete our next album. Back's been fuckin' killin' me!"

"...Are you worried about him?"

Pickles went silent, before dropping his head a little.

"Yeh. He tells me naht to. Says it ain't brutal. It ain't metal." He sighed. "But I ain't never seen him so shaken-up before, and it kinda stresses me out, yanno? Ain't enough Mary-Jane or liquor in th' world to cure dat kind'a bullshit feelings."

"How long have you two known each other."

"Holy shit, uh. I think since he was like... eighteen? He broke backstage into th' last Snakes 'n Barrels concert and started screamin' at me dat he wanted to make a band, and he wanted me in it and shit. I thought it was fuckin' lame, but I couldn't get much other business because it got around dat I was, uh... 'hard to work with'? So I called 'im back finally and boom."

"I'm assuming you two hit it off soon afterwards."

"Oh yeh. We were great pals. Skwisgaar was a loner who only talked to Charles and Murderface was all over Magnus' dick. So it was just us two guys." Murderface and Magnus, the ex-guitarist? And for that matter, Twinkletits had no idea Skwisgaar and Charles had a past together. He wrote down a few things. "I didn't really have any friends in Tomahawk. Me and Tony hooked up for awhile, but it was just a fling. Nothin' special."

"Take me back a little." Ah yes, he was unraveling the story of Pickles' life after all this time. His robotic fingers tapped together in anticipation. "Take me back to when you were in your old band, alright? And then we'll walk back from there. So I can figure out where it hurts, and then fix it for you."

"Alright, uh..." Pickles reclined in the chair, taking a long swig of beer before speaking once more. "Well, I was actually the last person to join the band. But, uh, y'know, I called in to join their band and apparently dey were so impressed dey put me as th' frontman, right?"

"Well you do have impressive talents."

"Yeh... And, uh, Snazz could play guitar but he couldn't sing. Candynose was only good for drums, and Tony was too anxious. Snakes 'n Barrels ain't even my first band, I was actually in a few grungy punk bands back 'n high school. But like hell you can call yourself famous if your audience consists of drunken Wisconsin teenagers, right? But I'd played 'em all. Bass, guitar, drums, singin', keyboard... a few woodwinds and other classical shit, even played electric violin once, it was cool."

"What prompted you to learn all of these instruments? It seems like quite a load of things to remember."

"My mudder."

"She pushed you to?"

"I wanted her attention. I figured if I became an ultra-talented musical genius boy she'd accept me." Pickles scoffed. "No dice."

"...I see."

"Seth got a whole lotta love. Dat bastard. But anyway--"

"No, keep going." Twinkletits rotated his hand around its socket. "About your family situation."

"Pfft. My family situation? More like shit-tuation, am I right?" Pickles laughed. His laughter slowly died out into a long, low sigh. "Yeh."

"Your brother was the cause for your alcoholism, correct? I heard so through the grapevine. He sounds like a real cock-and-a-half. A little bastard."

"Alright, so get dis. Him and his friends were out back by the garage playing with explosives. One of 'em set off a big boy and it burnt that thing to the ground. And Seth panicked like hell, and all of his pals ran off 'n ditched him. So he pinned it on my sorry ass." Pickles grunted. Another drink. "Next day I broke into dad's 'special vault' while he was at work. Not actually a vault, just a big section of the fridge where all the booze went. An' I took a whole case a' beers, a six-pack of 'em, broke into the nearby dock shirtless and just sat there drinkin'."

"...Oh, right. Were you, uh. Developing by then?"

"What? No, I was six years old, I didn't have titties."

"Well at least you couldn't get arrested for indecency then."

"It's weird, Seth was the only one who accepted me as a guy, but he was still a fuckin' douche." His face twisted into an almost resentful grin. "Somehow my family is so terrible, the sleaziest guy I know still manages to be my least awful relative."

"Do you ever wish you had... you know, like, a family?"

"I arready got one, I jest told you."

"No, I mean one who actually, uh. Cares about your ass."

"...Once in awhile." The drunk sighed, wistfully, breath smelling like beer. "Yanno, then I could've not turned out so fucked-up. Could'a had a real life ahead of me. A future 'n shit. Outside of Dethklok, I guess I just gaht nothin'. When one of us dies, or we get old, I'm fucked."

"Well, I've worked here long enough to say I'm nearly certain the others feel similarly."

"Pfft. Nathan or Skwisgaar could get a jahb. Murderface was workin' in retail when I first met him. Only one I'd be worried about is Toki."

"You're all men of many talents and faults. Yes, Dethklok can't go on forever, but by then you'll be set for life, and remembered as a king." Twinkletits clicked his pen. "And perhaps you've found a family right here, y'know? One big ol'... dysfunctional family. Of a bunch of fuck-ups who struck gold. And here you are, a fully-grown man who worked up enough cash to go under the knife and get some new equipment."

"I mean, I guess." Pickles grumbled, realizing his bottle was empty. "I just feel replaceable."

"Your fans would disagree, I can tell you that much." Twinkletits slid back in his rolling chair. "And for that matter, I think Nathan would." Pickles stared, then darting his gaze down to the floor. Twinkletits could see the cogs turning in his head as he attempted to comprehend it. "I know, it's hard to believe. I'll prescribe you some anti-depressants. Only take one at a time, now."

"Y'really think Nathan would?"

"I don't think, dumbass, I know."

The drummer quietly wiped his eye.

"Shit." His eyes were red and dripping. "God, I hope so."

-

Skwisgaar was a man who refused to feel. Which, for Dethklok, was great. But for Twinkletits, it was nine headaches and three quarters to a tenth one. Because he knew for a fact that behind that perfect face and body was one fucked-up kid, bottling up his feelings. Which was a running theme amongst Dethklok's members, but perhaps, Skwisgaar was the hardest to read. However, Twinkletits believed he was qualified to tug away the tight strings holding the guitarist's mind shut.

Skwisgaar showed up on time, but didn't look happy. He took a drink from a cup of coffee, wrinkling his nose at the doctor's mere presence.

"Looks, uh. Can I just sleeps here?"

"Fine then. But you'll have to come back next week and talk to me." Skwisgaar scowled, flopping over into the chair. "Now. How've you been?"

"I can't gets it ups. May as well kills myself."

"And why's that?" Twinkletits tried - and failed - to hold back a stupid grin.

"Don't fucking laughs. It amn'ts you's business."

"Everything is my business, Skwisgaar. And if something's up with your brain, then it goes on my paycheck. You, as a multi-billion dollar manwhore might be able to understand something like that. And trust me, I'm as frustrated working with you as you are coming here."

"Pssht. You's an assholes." Skwisgaar put his face in his hands. "Fine. I amn'ts impotents, I'll tells you dats. But, uh..." He swallowed. "We goes to my mudder's house recentlies. 'cos we's plays in Swedens, where I ams from. I goes to puts my jackets aways, and it ams like... de repress memories of my childhoods all comes back."

"What was it?"

"When she has mens over, she don't wants 'ems to know she gives borth." He sighed. "So when I's ams olds enough to comprehends language, she tells me to go in de closets."

"Was it lonely?"

"No. Worse." His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. "It was in her bedrooms. I could sees her, her, her fuckin's..." He pressed a hand to his mouth. "Gimme de trash bins." Twinkletits silently kicked the bin over, allowing Skwisgaar to pull his hair back and vomit into the trash. And then another volley. The Swede looked pale, a whine passing his thick lips. "I could sees my own mudders cunts... Fuckin's sicks..."

"You feelin' alright?"

"No, I-I ain'ts touches nobodies in weeks, because whenever I t'inks about it I just sees de same t'ings and it makes me feel sicks to my stomachs... Oogh." He wiped the sweat from his brow. "You gots any pills for dats...?"

"Buddy, pills can't cure your own psychological trauma. But viagra might give you an erection, if that helps."

"...I keeps havin's dis dream dat Toki chops off my balls and den fucks my moms."

"Toki? Why is that?"

"He coulds replace me." He seemed to sink down further. "He ams talented. He cans improves, I amn'ts gon's to get betters. And- and I can't help wonderin' what de fuck ams de matters wit' me? I's de richest, best-est guitarist in de worl' and I has all de wimmens I could wants. But I'ms so fuckin's..."

"Depressed?"

"But I can'ts be depress, I ain'ts fuckin's traumatized, or uglies, I's just... fading." He was slumping over like he just wanted to melt into nonexistence. "I does all dems drugs and fucks all dems gorls because I wants to be remembers. And I amn'ts gon's to be." He grumbled. "I amn'ts interestin's."

"You're plenty interesting. You're the lead guitarist of Dethklok."

"It don't even matters. I just wants to be normals if I's gon's to be forgottens." Twinkletits wrote furiously. He had cracked Skwisgaar's sensitive mind open, and wouldn't let it shut before he got deep inside. "I wants to haves a mudders 'n a fadders, and a normals eckucations, and a real jobs and a gorlfriends and... somet'ings, but I can'ts, I makes my decisions too damns longs ago and I can'ts. And soons Toki am gon's to eats my leckgacies and leave me ins de dust."

"Well, would Toki want to do that?"

"Of course."

"He seems to hold you in very, very high regard, Skwisgaar."

"...Guh." His palm soon met his eyes. "Maybe I just kills myself." Immediately red lights went off in Twinkletits' head, flashing and blaring sirens. The big one was here. He never expected it to come from Skwisgaar, but he knew he had to work past it.

"Why on earth would you do that?"

"I'd be happiers dat ways."

"Dead people can't feel emotions." Twinkletits leaned back in his chair. "Furthermore, would you really be happy in an afterlife watching all of your friends missing you, and crying over you, and all of your fans falling into disarray? If you ask me that'd fucking suck."

"Guh..." He groaned, wiping across his eyes. "I ain'ts gon's to get betters. It ain'ts nevers gon's to get betters. I just resigns myselfs, den? De fucks does I do?!"

"Well, first off, as bad as it may seem, assuming life won't improve will just make you even more fuckin' depressed." Twinkletits paused, passing a box of tissues to the now-weeping guitarist, whose mascara was running. "Second of all, never compare yourself to others. It only leads to tragedy."

"Easier says den dones."

"Yes, I know. It's a folley of man no amount of prozac can fix, but I just need you to try." He shrugged. "And if you're ever feelin' shitty or lonely, you can come to me. Or go to one of your bandmates, for that matter. Toki may not be the world's greatest guitarist, but he's a wonderful listener and cares deeply about you."

"Ja." Skwisgaar sniveled uncontrollably, face now red and moist. "W-what's you perscribin's me? Prossacks?"

"Prozac. I'll write it down for Charles."

"...I can'ts be depress, cans I?"

"Oh sure you can. A great many people are... every member of this band is, I'm pretty sure. And, uh, if you're ever feeling suicidal, please call someone. A hotline. A friend. Me. Whatever."

"...Okays." He didn't seem convinced. Baby steps.

-

William Murderface was a case all of his own. Abused from birth to adulthood, with no self-worth or anything like that, he fell into an endless spiral of broken and messed-up brain parts, all congealing into a depressed, bipolar basket case. Body issues, problems with his sexuality, past eating disorders, and on top of that, Twinkletits didn't even learn this from the source. Because Murderface almost entirely refused to talk to him. After their first rock talk way back when, Murderface insistently choked back any information he had left. Aside from, of course, when Toki walked him in sobbing and bleeding from self-inflicted lacerations, calling himself a "worthless chubby-chode freak of nature" until Twinkletits pumped the erratic bassist full of sedatives.

It took a full day for Murderface to show up, meaning that he had to push back Nathan's appointment. But he did, in fact, show up, at 2 PM the next day, with his hands in his pockets and his eyes cast toward the floor.

"...I schwear I won't pee on your chair thisch time."

"Siddown, kid."

Murderface threw himself down, whining at how he could feel the plush chair receding beneath his weight. "I see you've made some new marks. Why is that?"

"Becausche I hate myschelf, why elsche."

"Mother's day is coming around."

"Don't remind me..." Murderface sniffled. He always cried within minutes when they spoke. "...I missch my mom... never even got to meet her, but I bet she wasch perfect."

"It's unfortunate. But here, I'll make this easier for you and only ask you yes-or-no questions. Then you don't have to talk as much, alright? That good?" Generally Twinkletits only did this with irritable children, but Murderface was quite like one. He nodded. "Alright. Now, are you depressed because of Mother's Day?"

"Uh-huh."

"Are you depressed because of running into Magnus?"

"...Uhhuhh..."

"Have you told anyone?"

"Nuh-uh." Big, round teardrops were already crossing his chubby face.

"Have you been eating properly?"

"Uh-huh!" He sat up. But clearly, Twinkletits could see through his lies. "...Nuh-uh..."

"...You and Hammersmith. Did he ever do anything to you without your consent?"

"I-I wasch drunk a couple timesch. Doesch that count?" Murderface clearly wasn't surprised that Twinkletits knew his relationship with Magnus. After all, this was the guy who just talked his way into his fucking brain.

"Uh, probably. I dunno, I'll look into it." He was almost getting carpal tunnel with the vigorous writing he was getting up to. "...Toki. Did you miss him?"

"Nuh-uh!" Once again, Twinkletits gave him the look. "...Okay, I might've a little!"

"Has anything been bothering you lately?"

"Mm-hm."

"May I ask what happened?"

"Nathan."

"Was he harsh with you?"

"...We got in a fight. He called me a talentlessch, unlovable fatassch." He whimpered. "He schaid I don't add nothin' to thisch band. And that I'm schtupid and I can't do nothin' right."

"What prompted this?"

"He wasch drinkin'. An' I wasch drinkin'." His chubby fingers interlocked together. "I called him fat and he schtarted yellin' at me... I-I already know they don't even need me, I don't need 'im to say that! I ain't good for nothin'! I hate myschelf, I hate it! Ghhhk!"

"Now, now. Wipe those eyes." Twinkletits passed him a tissue box.

"...He told me I'm fucked-up 'causch I ain't got a mom..." Murderface blew his nose into a tissue. "...That mom 'n dad died becausch I'm scho grossch, and I know isch true, isch all my fault. Thasch why I'm thisch fucking... overgrown freak!"

"...Well, first of all, you should eat something."

"No. I'm gonna- I'm gonna losche weight thisch time, I'll- I'll honk it all back up if I have to! I did it before, I can do it again!"

"That's not going to help. You and I both know. You'll just end up in a hospital bed, or a hearse."

"Everyone would be happier if I wasch dead." He wiped his face off with the back of his arm, irritating the skin with all his rubbing. "I at leascht wanna die not lookin' like a tub of fucking lard!"

"Murderface. You have an amazing musical talent--"

"No I don't."

"You do. And if you put your heart into it and put it to use, it won't even matter how you look. A body is just a body." Twinkletits tried to be as gentle as possible. Murderface was a case that only few doctors could work with just right. Apparently he'd been through at least eight psychiatric doctors in his childhood, all of whom said he was beyond repair. "...And... what happened after the argument?"

"After...?" Murderface cocked a brow. "Uh... I ran away. To my bedroom. And cut."

"Well. As a member of the staff, I have access to the security cameras. And I could see what happened down-stairs."

"They all laughed, didn't they."

"Pickles and Toki gave him a real stern talking-to."

"...Wuh?"

"Pickles told him he was out of line. Too harsh on you. His 6-foot ass fell over on the couch and looked like a beaten dog. Pickles sounded like his fucking mother. And Toki was all, 'oh, we goes checks on Moidaface'. If Nathan wasn't completely inebriated and on the brink of self-destruction, they probably would have."

"...You're- you're full of shit..."

"Ask Charles if you don't believe me. He has the footage."

"Buh- but I only got into Dethklok becausche of... Magnusch..."

"They must have gotten attached to you." He clicked his pen. "You have a lot of talent and personality. And you have a lot of people who care about you."

"I don't get it." Murderface pointed at himself. "Toki schtood up for me?"

"Right. And you love him, don't you?"

"I mean, I-I ain't gay. I can't be gay."

"Why's that?"

"I'll go to Hell. And nobody will like me."

"We'll work on that. But regardless. Your band... family, all of them, they care about you. And nobody wants to see you thinner or better at bass or nicer. They just want to see you happy. Being you. And if that ain't what life is about, I guess I'll just go fuck myself."

"...Me being me." His face was red. He was sobbing, but tears weren't coming out. His supply was exhausted and his face was hot. "...I wish I didn't feel like thisch."

"Don't we all?"

"I wanna go schee Toki."

"Alright. Take an ice cream sandwich on the way out."

"...I guessch."

-

Nathan was someone who everyone very silently worried about. Because, frankly, nobody wanted to face the wrath of him complaining about how not brutal it was. Nobody wanted to call him 'emotionally constipated' because frankly, they weren't sure if he had emotions to begin with. However, Twinkletits had been in his profession enough to see past his cold exterior. Between that and the stories he'd hear from Nathan's bandmates, the doctor knew he was a deeply troubled man who was lying to himself about his own feelings. And Twinkletits was determined to pry that man out of said shell, and allow him to relax, and settle.

Nathan refused to show up. But in his determination, he ended up appearing at the singer's bedroom door, much to said singer's visible chagrin.

"Ugh."

"You're an hour late, Nathan."

"I planned on being... a forever late."

"Well, that's too bad, ain't it. Lemme in."

"Ugh, no, if you're gonna breach my privacy, don't do it in my bedroom."

"If you won't come to me, I'm comin' to you."

"...Fine. Fine! Come in. Fuckin' go through my underwear drawers while you're here. I don't give a shit."

"That's great." Nathan had a huge bedroom. Twinkletits was almost jealous, but kept that fact to himself. He sat down in a nearby chair. "Now, sit, sit. And put your phone away. Stop playing tetris. Look at me. Don't glare."

"What the fuck do you want from me?!"

"Well, since you never show up, really all I know about you is from other people."

"Dear god. Who told you and what'd they say."

"For one thing, how drunk were you two days ago to completely emotionally wail on your bassist and then lay down on the couch crying, like, holy shit."

"...Uh... I don't even remember doing that. So I must've been pretty fuckin' drunk."

"And furthermore, why do you keep waking up at ungodly hours of the night vomiting."

"Uhhhhhh..." He 'uhh'd for quite some time. At least thirty seconds. "...No I don't."

"Pickles told me."

"Fuck! Pickles! That asshole! I'll kill him and then I'll fucking make his skin into a hat, I swear to god!" 

"Well, now you have to tell me, don't you?"

"No! No I don't! Fuck you!"

"Come on. You know what I have in my office?"

"...What."

"Ice cream sandwiches." Immediately Nathan's eyes lit up, and his tongue flicked across his lip for a moment. "There, now I've got your attention. I'll bring you one if you tell me what's going on with you, pal."

"...Keep 'nnhnnn..."

"Speak up."

"I keep hgnnninuhnn..."

"Come on, I won't--"

"I'M HAVING NIGHTMARES, OKAY?!"

Twinkletits nearly dropped his notepad. He should've been used to Nathan's yelling. Or rather, he would have been, if they'd ever had a proper session. Nathan was breathing heavily, his shoulders hunched over and eyes pointed down towards the floor. "...I'm... having nightmares."

"Every night?"

"Uh-huh... Keep seein' 'em dead."

"Who?"

"...I'm not tellin' you."

"It's Dethklok, isn't it?"

"...Maybe. What's it matter to you?"

"Nathan. It's okay to have feelings."

"No, it's fucking gay."

"It's a perfectly normal thing. Somewhere down the line, someone must have made you think that feeling your feelings was wrong. Where was that?"

"...Nngh."

"I promise. It'll feel better if you just talk to someone about it."

"But I don't like you."

"Well lemme tell you somethin', Jack. If you never talk about these things, sooner or later they'll end up boiling at the bottom of your body like some kind of... gross... fire, and it'll lick at your heart and soul until you explode. And that ain't fun." Click click. "You could hurt yourself, or someone close to you."

"...Pickles?"

"Easily." He shrugged. "That's just the way we a--"

"I was first told not to cry in first grade! Because they said it was lame! And I got made fun of all through school for not knowing anything, and I just held onto it, I didn't want people to think I was weak, alright?!" Nathan's breath was heavy. Twinkletits attempted to speak up, to give him a moment of pause, but Nathan wouldn't allow it. "I wanted a band but I kept getting people hurt, and I didn't do anything, I didn't want any of them to- to think less of me, because I'm some fucking emotional pussy. And I just keep ruining everything and if they get hurt, it's gonna be my fault! I don't want... I don't- I don't wanna... I don't wanna lose this, but fuck..."

"...How long have you felt this way?"

"Forever, I think." It was only then that Twinkletits noticed the leaking of Nathan's eyeliner across his pale face, snot dribbling out of his nose, and him trying desperately to wipe it all away. "They're gonna look at me funny. Who- who even am I? This is so fucking pathetic!"

"It's not pathetic, it's human."

"I don't... I don't wanna lose my family... I wake up every night because I think they're dead, and it makes me feel sick, I think Pickles is gonna get tired of me, I don't wanna have sex or do anything fun, I wanna be close to him, I'm just- I can't, I'm sorry. I'm so... Suh... Guh..." He coughed a reddish clot onto the floor. "...sorry..."

"...I wanna help you. Everyone wants to help you. But nobody can help you if you insist nothing is wrong."

"I don't wanna bother anybody."

"It's not a problem. You- everyone here, really- has been through a lot in the past couple months." Nathan coughed in reply, blood on his lips. "...Nobody blames you for being scared."

"...I just wanna fix everything. I want it to be over."

"Don't we all. But hey, now that you've done that, doesn't it feel a little better?"

"...A little bit..."

"Alright. That's good. Now, what I need you to do is I need you to tell this stuff to a friend of yours--"

"Pickles?"

"Pickles works. I need you to tell this to a friend of yours and just... talk it out."

"...Do I get my ice cream sammich..."

"You get two."

-

The week ended. Dethklok's first official week of therapy. Twinkletits felt that he'd done his job well. And that fat, tasty paycheck was mere moments from his hands. Charles looked at him, indifferent, writing the check in black ink.

"I appreciate what you've done for the boys."

"Oh, no problem." It certainly wasn't a problem if he was nearly as rich as Dethklok themselves at the end of the fiscal year. "I certainly do not mind."

"...It's been a rough time for all of us."

"Why're you sayin' that? Do you want my help? Do you want an appointment?"

"Maybe sooner or later."

"You serious?" Twinkletits nearly started laughing at how preposterous that was. Charles Ofdensen? In need of a therapist? "I never thought you were the type."

"...Well, not this week. But I'll book something in my schedule, I suppose."

"What happened with you while Toki and Abigail were imprisoned?"

"Quite a few things."

"Well ain't that a peach. More bullshit on top of previous bullshit."

"...Magnus and I had a history. More specifically, I was in assistance, uh... I worked with Skwisgaar before Dethklok came to life, so to speak."

"Oh yeah, he told me you sucked his dick." Charles nearly spat his brandy across the room.

"...I may have... dabbled in homosexual sex acts once or twice. But, uh, Skwisgaar came to me one day, way back when, and he was covered in bruises. Turned out he had performed intercourse, uh... with Magnus." Twinkletits stared. To be fair, he could imagine it happening. "To keep him away from Murderface. Who was... about 17 at the time. And, uh, in a sexual relationship with him despite a wide age gap between them."

"Oh damn."

"So I of course, you know, checked on them all. That guy was a real sleaze." Charles' face seemed to want to disappear into his palm as he leaned into it. "Seeing him again I knew he was up to no good. And I regret not separating him and Toki sooner. The scars he has left on my boys will not heal with ease."

"...You sure you don't want to just schedule an appointment now?"

"No thanks, I'm fine."


End file.
